


depths of this ocean (falling for you)

by LizMikaelson



Series: standing by the ocean (waiting on you) [2]
Category: Legacies (TV 2018)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 12:01:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LizMikaelson/pseuds/LizMikaelson
Summary: Hope, Lizzie & the Salvatore School Pool.





	depths of this ocean (falling for you)

**Author's Note:**

> set in the same universe as [standing by the ocean (waiting on you)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18279614)

This has always been her safe space, the quietness of the night and the gentle rhythm of the water.Behind her the school is silent, as it seems to be constantly now that most of the students have left for the Summer.

 

She breathes in deeply. The sweltering heat of the day has subsided, for the most part, but she’s still grateful for the cold water splashing against her feet.

 

It holds memories of easier times, when everything was still almost the way it was supposed to be. She breathes in again, attempting to push the memories that plague her away. Slowly the panic the dream left her with subsides.

 

Rather suddenly, she’s not alone anymore, can see a figure on the edge of the yard, unmoving, observing, and she can’t help the smile that crosses her face at the sight. It’s not like she was waiting. It’s just also not exactly unexpected.

 

“You’re lurking,” she says into the silence.

 

Hope laughs quietly, moves out of the shadows and comes closer.

 

Lizzie watches as she sits down next to her.

 

“Are you okay?” she asks.

 

Lizzie shrugs, doesn’t quite know what to say, or if she is. No matter how much the Merge is over and done with, the images still haunt her sometimes. Her own body, empty and drained. Or like tonight, Josie, dead. Dead at Lizzie’s hands. 

 

“You saw?”

 

Hope nods quietly next to her. “It’s not real,” she reminds her. “You’re safe, both of you,” and she knows that, but there’s still comfort in hearing the words from Hope.

 

Lizzie sighs. “Sorry.”

 

Hope reaches for her hand, tangles their fingers together and Lizzie breathes, long and slow. “You don’t have to apologise. It’s not your fault. And it goes both ways,” Hope reminds her and Lizzie shivers a little at that memory.

 

“Josie says it should stop soon,” Hope mutters.

 

“Josie also says we’re supposed to practice shutting it off,” she says, raises an eyebrow, and watches Hope’s cheeks color with a light, dusty pink.

 

Several seconds pass in silence before Hope tilts her head, almost thoughtfully. “Are you? Practicing?”

 

And it’s, it’s not like she’s actively trying to hold onto the connection the anchoring left them with. It’s just _useful_ to be able to make sure that Hope is actually okay, not simply pretending to be. Besides, by now, the remnants of the anchoring are mostly the occasional shared nightmare.

 

“Are you?” She echoes back and Hope rolls her eyes, squeezes her hand.

 

“At least this way, you’re not sitting at a pool by yourself in the middle of the night.”

 

And that’s nice, maybe.

 

“Jo and I used to sneak out here at night,” she says and Hope smiles.

 

“Yeah, I know.”

 

She’s aghast. “You know?” It was their best kept secret, coming here after midnight when everyone else had gone to bed. She’s pretty sure not even her parents suspect.

 

“You and Josie are not exactly the most quiet people when you have splashing fights,” Hope says, grins, “and my room is right up there.”

 

Her voice is soft and Lizzie thinks about Hope Marshall, keeping herself a secret and keeping away, and squeezes Hope’s hand, still in her own.

 

Hope smiles at her, soft, and a little bit tentatively. “My mother,” she says, “she used to sit by the lake, out at the Bayou. She said there was nothing as calming as the repetitiveness of water.”

 

“That sounds nice,” Lizzie says.

 

“It was,” Hope says, and moves, kicking off her shoes and dropping her feet into the water. She doesn’t let go of Lizzie’s hand.

 

She watches their feet in the water, their hands joined at the edge of the pool and breathes a little bit easier.

 

She doesn’t move as Hope reaches over, catches a loose strand of her hair with her fingers and tucks it behind her ear with slow movements. Hope looks at her and in the dim light of the night, she feels like she’s being memorized, feels precious and valuable and safe.

 

Lizzie kisses her.

 

Hope kisses her back.

 

She’s not sure how much time passes until they break apart, but Hope is smiling when they do.

 

Lizzie thinks that she'd like to be the reason for that, again and again.

 

And there’s something about the look in Hope’s eyes and the way she’s smiling, free and honest, that makes her feel daring. Brave. Reckless.

 

And so before she can turn back, reconsider, she stands up, slipping out of her shorts and pulling her shirt over her head.

 

Hope’s gaze follows her, all the way to the other end of the pool.

 

And when Lizzie turns around, leans against the tiles of the pool behind her, she can still feel Hope’s eyes on her.

 

The seconds pass and neither of them moves.

 

“Well?” She questions, “are you going to catch me?”

 

And she may have just slightly underestimated Hope’s speed, because bare seconds pass before Hope is front of her in nothing but black underwear, crowding her against the cold wall of the pool behind her.

 

“Always,” Hope replies and something in her tone has goosebumps erupting over Lizzie’s skin, leaving her utterly breathless.

 

This time, Hope is the one who kisses her, presses closer to her. And the heat of Hope’s body is stark contrast to the cold tiles against her back and Lizzie feels dizzy.

 

And Hope is everywhere, almost suddenly, her mouth moving against Lizzie’s neck, her hands running over her sides, and she lets herself be anchored down and carried away.

 

She’s not sure how much time passes, how much time they spend exchanging lazy kisses, until she twists her hands into Hope’s hair, pulls her impossibly closer.

 

Hope’s fingers slip over the clasp of her bra with slow, careful movements. “Can I?”

 

“Yes,” Lizzie breathes out, “please.”

 

She can feel her heart racing and despite the cool air of the night, she feels heat cursing through her body.

 

Hope’s hands are tentative as they trace the lines of her body and Lizzie whimpers when gentle fingers skim over her breast, reaches for Hope and kisses her, drags her mouth over the pale line of her neck.

 

Hope’s hands move faster against her then, a little rougher, and Lizzie arches against her, grinds down against the thigh between her legs and gasps for breath. Hope shifts them until she can reach for her panties, pulls them down with a quick tug.

 

And when Hope slides two fingers inside of her, she bites down on her lip to stifle the moan and feel Hope's mouth against her own seconds later, gently soothing. Hope’s fingers move inside her, fast and insistent, and she drops her head against Hope’s shoulder.

 

She feels desperate and wanting, like everything is too much and not quite enough.

 

“Hope,” she begs and she doesn’t know what she’s asking for.

 

Hope moves away from her, out of her and Lizzie whines at the loss of contact, but then Hope’s hands are gliding over her thighs and lifting her up, placing her at the ledge of the pool.

 

Her fingers grip the sill as Hope’s lips move over her legs, almost carefully and far, far too slowly.

 

“Stop being a tease,” she complains.

 

Hope laughs, an utterly delicious sound, low and deep, sending vibrations over Lizzie's skin. “So impatient,” she chides and then her mouth is between Lizzie’s legs, moving over her, carefully circling her clit and Lizzie arches against her.

 

She feels weightless and dizzy and Hope reaches for her hand, holds her in place with her other one. She squeezes Hope’s hand, tighter and tighter, until Hope lets go of her, pushes two fingers inside of her, again.

 

When Hope’s eyes flicker up to meet hers, she falls to pieces.

Hope slides out of the water, next to her, and Lizzie lets herself collapse against the stone tiles of the ground, can feel Hope by her side seconds later.

 

She shifts to kiss her, again, and again and again, and can taste herself on Hope’s lips and takes in the sight of her in the earliest light of the morning, swollen lips and messy hair and the red marks Lizzie left on her skin.

 

Her hands roam Hope’s body and Hope whimpers against her and Lizzie traces her mouth over the lines of her body, soft and warm under her touch, licks at the water droplets covering Hope’s skin and enjoys the way that causes her to squirm. 

 

She slides her fingers lower, circles Hope’s clit and slides inside of her.

 

Hope’s head falls back, exposing her neck, and Lizzie takes the opportunity, sucks Hope’s pulse point into her mouth until the skin has darkened under her touch and Hope’s breathing is frantic.

 

She tugs Hope’s bra down, moves her mouth over her breasts and feels Hope arch against her, curls her fingers. Hope pants and rolls her hips and Lizzie can tell that she’s close. She’s trembling when Lizzie bites down, almost gently, around her nipple, curls her fingers again and brushes the pad of her thumb over Hope’s clit.

 

When Hope lets out a strangled gasp and clenches around her, she shifts upwards, swallows the sounds of Hope’s orgasm with a kiss and feels Hope’s hands on her back, pulling her in.

 

She stays there, stretched out on top of Hope, Hope’s hand running through her hair, for what seems like seconds and infinity, until she can see the sun rising further out of the corner of her eye.

 

They can’t stay here for much longer. She really doesn't want to risk encountering anyone who might be up at this early in the morning.

“We should probably get out of here,” Hope mutters, sitting up. And even though she was thinking the same thing not seconds ago, a searing cold runs through her.

 

“You can leave,” Lizzie says, “I mean, if you need to go.”

 

“I could use a shower,” Hope says, getting to her feet. And that’s- that’s fine. She’s fine. She will be fine.

 

“Liz,” Hope’s voice cuts through her thoughts, loud and clear. “Did you hear me?”

 

“I- no,” she stutters out and Hope’s eyes hone in on her, clear and blue and Lizzie knows that Hope has always been annoyingly good at getting her, which means this will only get more humiliating.

 

“I asked,” Hope says, holding out her hand, “if you were coming.”

 

She reaches for Hope’s hand, lets herself be pulled up.

 

Hope doesn’t let go of her hand much that morning.

 

Not when they walk upstairs, stopping on the way to kiss in the hidden alcoves of the corridors.

 

Not when she pins Lizzie to the wall of the shower, holds her wrists together above her head.

 

Not when Hope makes them pancakes with one hand, the other holding onto her.

 

Maybe, this, maybe everything is different.


End file.
